


Almost Okay

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Jason is a good brother, Past Character Death, takes place after Tim came back from the cell, the batboys have issues what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Tim had missed this.All of it. The musk of Gotham, the lingering humidity from last night’s thunderstorm, the welcoming ache in his shoulder as he swung from building to building.Oh, how he’d missed this city.(Beware: This gets angsty as Heck)





	Almost Okay

**Author's Note:**

> I’m being honest right now when I say this story has been sitting in my notes gathering dust since last year. And now I’m finally posting it because why not. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This takes place after Tim’s return from Mr. Oz’s cell. I’m not sure how long he was there in-universe, so I’m making it a little over a year because who cares about being factual anymore.

Tim had missed this. 

All of it. The musk of Gotham, the lingering humidity from last night’s thunderstorm, the welcoming ache in his shoulder as he swung from building to building. 

Oh, how he’d missed this city. 

It was the first night in months Tim had been able to patrol by himself without someone insisting they tag along. Even after he’d been cleared to go out again, the rest of the family remained convinced he needed the extra surveillance. It had taken over an hour of negotiation just to get Bruce to back off and let Tim go out solo for once. And man, did it feel great. 

Being alone in the dark damp streets. Breathing in some of that good old pollution. Crouching on a roof above a crime boss meeting, preparing to bust in and take down some criminals. The perfect Friday night. 

Tim watched through the highest window, waiting for his chance. His phone buzzed insistently, but he paid it no attention. 

He looked down on the room of guys—some of Black Mask’s muscle. They were making a deal with some reps from a local gang, and it was just misfortune that they’d chosen to do it at the exact same time Red Robin roamed the area, making his second debut. Proving he hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth in his absence. 

He almost felt sorry for them. 

Okay, okay, focus. They were about to make the trade, and Tim had to plan his timing perfectly if he was going to catch them off guard. Wait for it...

 _There._ There was his opening. 

Tim crashed through the window and wasted no time, taking advantage of the thugs’ confusion to snap out his staff and take down three at once. When the others caught up with what was happening, they pulled out their guns and fired blindly, but Tim was faster than their bullets. 

“What the hell?” one growled. “I thought Red Robin was dead!” 

_You wish,_ Tim thought. 

He threw a disk which ricocheted off the skull of one and hit the other, taking both thugs down at the same time. 

_Double combo,_ he thought, smiling to himself. But the satisfaction didn’t last long. 

Wait a second. _Three, four, five..._ Weren’t there six guys when he came in? Where was— 

_BLAM!_

Tim did a quick 180 and got back into a fighting stance, raising his staff on instinct. He thrust it at the neck of the missing last thug who stood before him with his gun raised, pointed right at Tim... 

And blood seeping from his shoulder. 

With a choked cry, his eyes as wide and surprised as Tim’s, the man fell to the ground, unconscious. Tim scanned the room for the assassin, eyes searching and landing on a tall figure standing in the shadows. 

“You should really pay more attention to your surroundings,” a familiar voice said. The figure stepped out. “Lucky I was here or you’d be pronounced dead twice in two years. Not the most desirable legacy you want to leave behind, kid.” 

Tim dropped his shoulders, relaxing the barest amount. “Jason.” 

Jason holstered his gun and crossed his arms. “Hey. And before you start yelling, it was just a flesh wound. He’ll be fine with some medical assistance, and I already called the cops, who’ll be here in—“ He checked his watch. “Three minutes.”

Tim should have said something nice, like maybe _Thanks for saving my life_ or _How’s it going?_ But all he could muster was irritation. “What are you doing here, Hood? I had that.” 

He didn’t have to see his face to know Jason was rolling his eyes under his helmet. “If you call ‘having that’ being about to get killed by some moron, then yes, you definitely had that.” 

Tim just stared at him, eyes narrowed. He turned and took out his grapple, shooting off a line. “Thanks for the assist, but I’ve got stuff to do.” 

He took off, zipping away back through the point at which he entered and landing on the roof of a nearby building. He felt his phone buzz again and checked the screen, finding dozens of text messages waiting for him, all from Steph. He’d been steadily ignoring them since the moment he left the apartment. 

_Hey Tim, just checking in. Where r u?_

_Please be careful tonight okay_

_Are you sure you’re really ready to patrol alone again?_

_There’s no shame in waiting a couple more weeks until you’re better_

Tim groaned and shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

When would everyone finally leave him alone? He’d already been back for a month and _still_ they treated him like he was made of glass. Like they expected the slightest nudge to shatter him back to the fractured pieces he’d been before. Like all the glue and duct tape wouldn’t hold him together. 

They didn’t believe Tim when he told them he was fine, that he didn’t need to be coddled or babysat or repeatedly asked if he was okay. What he needed was to be _normal_ again. But as the days passed, Tim found himself forgetting what normal even felt like. 

Tim pulled off his mask, running a hand through his hair. He stood where he was and took a second to breathe, for it had been getting harder and harder to do that lately. 

Tim suddenly heard heavy footsteps falling behind him and he spun, hand automatically reaching for his utility belt. 

“Excuse you, jackass. I save your life and you ditch me? Low blow, babybird,” Jason said, boots clattering as he walked. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. 

Tim eyed Jason as he took out a carton of cigarettes. His hand didn’t leave his belt. “What do you want?” 

Jason selected a cigarette and lifted it to his lips. He lit it, taking the first drag. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for a smoke.” 

“The _real_ reason,” Tim insisted. “Why are you following me around? Did Steph put you up to this?” 

Jason chuckled, reverberating from deep in his chest. “Bruce, actually. Five hundred bucks to tail you tonight and make sure you don’t get yourself killed. I would have turned it down because I have better things to do than follow you around all night, but I’m low on rent.” 

A reason Jason was one of Tim’s favorite members of the family? He didn’t waste time on subtlety. If he had something to say to you, he’d tell you outright. It wasn’t his fault the news pissed Tim off beyond belief. 

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Well as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. So go home and tell Bruce I don’t need you babysitting me.” 

“I know you don’t,” Jason replied, lowering himself until he was sitting on the edge of the roof, his leather jacket rustling in the breeze. “Can’t a guy just hang out with his brother once in a while?” He patted the spot next to him, an invitation, and Tim took another second before giving in. He sat down next to Jason, letting his legs dangle freely over the edge. 

“Not if the only reason he’s doing it in the first place is because he’s being paid,” Tim grumbled. Jason shrugged and took another drag. 

They sat like that for a while, allowing themselves the silence. Tim half expected a lecture, but none came. Besides, Jason didn’t look up for lecturing, so maybe Tim would finally get a break from the constant push and pull of insisting he was okay.

Tim breathed in deeply, taking in Gotham. He had _really_ missed this place. From this height, he could see all the way across the city to where Wayne Manor sat on its hill. And the air was so fresh—by Gotham standards, at least—compared to the stale air of his cell. Here, he could inhale the salty air from the docks, the thick humidity, and...

He coughed, waving away the smoke that blew in his face with a grimace. “Those things’ll kill you, you know.” 

Jason shrugged. “Eh, been there done that.” He took another puff, then pointed the cigarette in Tim’s direction. “And so have you, for that matter.” 

“I didn’t die, Jay.” 

Jason shrugged again. “Far as we knew, you did.” 

Tim pursed his lips and looked down at the people bustling around below. Walking home, going about their lives. Not a problem in the world to weigh them down. Must have been nice. 

“You don’t talk about it, you know.” Jason didn’t look at him. 

It didn’t take a genius to know what Jason was talking about, and Tim’s stomach sank like a rock. _Here it comes..._ “I already told you guys the story.” 

Jason shook his head, tapping some ashes off of his cigarette. “Yeah, you gave us the facts. You told us what happened with your disappearance and the whole deal with Superman’s dad, but that was it. You don’t talk about what it was _like_ there.”

“Does it matter?” 

“You tell me.” 

“Is this why you’ve been following me around all night? Just to get me to talk?” 

Jason smiled. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Timbers. To be honest, I don’t really care either way. Just making observations.” 

“Well keep your observations to yourself.” 

Tim’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it. Jason didn’t. “You know she’s only doing all that because she’s worried about you, right?” He inclined his head knowingly. “Same thing with Bruce, Dick, the others.” 

Tim’s hands curled into fists. “Can’t you go play therapist with someone else? God, what’s with everyone lately? It’s like I can’t even go to the _bathroom_ without someone following me around like they’re afraid I’m going to have a mental breakdown or something.” 

“Can you blame them? They’re just—“ 

“—Worried, I know,” Tim finished. “But Dick’s hovering all the time, Steph looks _terrified_ whenever I leave the apartment, and even Bruce is sending you after me like I can’t take care of myself. Well I’m fine, okay? Yeah, what I went through was shitty, but I’m over it. There’s no—there’s no _trauma_ I need fixed.” 

Jason was skeptical. “You sure about that?” 

“Yes.” 

Jason shrugged, clearly not buying it. “Well then that’s gotta be some kind of miracle, because I can tell you right now that anyone else in your place would be the exact opposite of okay. And I’m telling you this straight because I know you don’t want to be lied to. You’re fucked up, Tim.“ 

Tim glared. “Gee, thanks for the compliment.” 

“You know what I mean. You went through something pretty terrible, and now you’ve gotta deal with the results. That’s how trauma works. You don’t get to feel better right away just because you want to.” 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better or something?” 

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m new to this comforting stuff. But it would help if you told me what _would_ make you feel better.” 

Tim didn’t respond, and Jason must have expected as much. So he changed course. “I remember coming back, you know.” Casually. Like they were discussing the weather. It was such a sudden and unexpected shift in topic that Tim didn’t stop him from continuing. “Not actually being dead—I forgot all of that. Or blocked it out. Same difference. But the coming back part, I remember that pretty clearly. Not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse or what.” 

Tim didn’t comment, so Jason took another puff of his cigarette and soldiered on. “It was really cold. Being in a coffin six feet under and having been a dead body for months, it was like being in a freezer in there. Cramped, too. I still can’t ride in elevators, you know.” He heaved a sigh, watching calmly as the smoke floated with the wind, twirling above them in thick wisps. He turned his head to look at Tim in case he got a reaction, but Tim kept his face angled away, towards the ground below. 

It took a solid five minutes before Tim said anything. “The cell was cramped too.” His voice was quiet, as intangible as the smoke that swirled above, dissolving in the wind. Jason didn’t move, almost like a hunter trying not to scare off a deer. He waited. 

Tim took his time, taking a deep breath. “You know, I actually read something about solitary confinement once? I forget what it was for—probably a school project or case research or whatever. But I learned a lot about the psychological effects of long-term isolation.” 

He began scratching at his left hand through his glove, a tic he’d developed recently. “Did you know in most studies it takes only fifteen days before the subject goes crazy?” He barely heard Jason’s sharp intake of breath. “Fifteen days. That’s...that’s nothing. That’s two weeks. And at the time, I didn’t entirely understand it. It just didn’t make sense how something as simple as being alone for a while could make someone lose their mind so easily.” 

Jason stayed silent.

“You know how long _I_ was in there?” Tim asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Twelve months, fourteen days, and thirty-seven minutes. I found that out after I got back.” 

He could still remember the days—could have been three, could have been thirty—he’d spent curled in the corner of his cell, telling himself over and over that he just had to hold out a little longer, stay strong as long as he could. His family would come for him. 

“The cell itself was eight feet across and ten and a half feet to the ceiling,” he continued. “One wall was made out of some kind of thick glass so I could see out, but there was nothing to look at.” He swallowed thickly, but had no intentions of stopping. Jason asked for this, and he was going to get his wish because fuck caring about lingering trauma or blocked out memories. 

“It was really quiet,” Tim said. “There was no one to talk to, and the cell must have been sound proof because there was nothing to hear from outside. Sometimes I would tap on the floor or pound the glass just to hear something.” He looked up at Jason. “I started talking to myself too, you know.” 

He watched Jason’s expression carefully, searching for a reaction. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it. Jason’s eyeline was trained on something far off on the horizon, purposely not looking at Tim. “What did you talk to yourself about?” 

Tim shrugged. “The same thing. That you guys would come for me soon. Clearly that was a stupid thing to assume, huh?” Jason’s face became strained, but Tim paid it no mind. “I can’t exactly remember when I gave up on that. Had to have been around the fourth of fifth month, I guess? I don’t really remember much after that.” 

Then a thought struck him, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly. “And you want to know the funny part? I _still_ have no idea whether the solitary confinement statistics were right or not. Some days I’m glad I got out of there before I went insane, and others I know that already happened anyway. So that kind of sucks.” He snorted. Jason didn’t comment, and Tim honestly didn’t know if he had expected him to. 

What he did instead was take another drag of his cigarette, exhaling for a long time. “That’s…That’s pretty heavy,” he managed. Because what else can one say to that? Besides maybe, _Sorry we failed you so hard it almost made you go insane. My bad._

This time, when Tim’s phone buzzed again, he shut it off completely. He turned to Jason, head still tucked with his chin resting on his knees. “Listen, don’t tell Steph I said all this, okay? Bruce too. It’s bad enough they can’t leave me by myself for a whole night. I don’t want to end up fired or in Arkham when they find out how screwed up I really am, you know?” 

Jason pursed his lips. “Yeah, I get it,” he said. “My lips are sealed. As long as you actually listen for once and start taking better care of yourself, of course. Can’t have Dickie blaming me because you got yourself killed again, can we?” He spared a crooked smile, which Tim returned. 

When Jason puffed again on his cigarette, Tim nodded toward the carton in his jacket pocket. “Can I have one of those?” he asked, as if he hadn’t already made a comment on how those were tiny sticks of death just ten minutes ago. 

Jason was going to tell him no, but Tim didn’t wait for an answer. He reached into Jason’s jacket pocket and pulled out the carton and lighter. 

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” Jason quoted as Tim lit one and brought it to his lips. 

Tim shrugged. “Been there, done that.” He didn’t even finish his first inhale before he suddenly doubled over, hacking in a fit. “Oh, god,” he coughed, his eyes watering. 

Rolling his own eyes, Jason snatched away the cig and the lighter. He ground the cigarette into the gravel of the roof, putting it out. “Told you.” 

Tim’s coughs died down, but he didn’t lose the disgusted expression. “I have no _idea_ why you smoke those things.” 

Jason chuckled, twisting the cigarette between his fingers. “You know, me neither.” 

Tim leaned back on his hands, not caring when the gravel dug painfully into his palms. The next few minutes passed by in silence, but it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. 

Then Tim was suddenly struck by a new thought. “Are you over it yet?” he asked without stopping to consider it first. 

“Over what?” 

“Dying. Coming back. Are you over it yet?” 

He must have caught Jason by surprise, because he looked like Tim had just asked if he could bludgeon him with a mace. “Oh. That.” Jason pursed his lips and put out his cigarette, grinding it into the concrete harder than necessary. “No,” he said finally. “No, I’m not.” 

Tim nodded, expecting as much. “Do you think you’ll ever be?” 

Jason shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe someday, if I’m lucky. That’s the funny thing about recovery, kid. You never really _get better._ You just get less worse until eventually you seem okay enough that people think you actually are.” 

Tim didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. And Jason didn’t ask him to. What he did do, however, was put his arm around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Knowing you, though, I think you’ll be okay eventually.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

It was almost comical, that coming from the king of past traumas and bad coping mechanisms. Or maybe that was the very detail that made it all the more genuine. Whatever it was, it gave Tim the spark of hope he’d thought had been extinguished four or five months into his imprisonment. 

”...Thanks, Jay.” 

So they sat a little longer, soaking in the Gotham stillness. Watching the smoke curl in the wind. Seeing slivers of the sun peek over the horizon, rising with its own schedule. Witnessing as the city, ever nocturnal, went about itself like all of the bad things that happened there never existed. Like it had recovered enough from all the crime and all the tragedies to be almost okay.


End file.
